


Oxygen Enough for Tomorrow

by lavendersblues (lonely_lovebird)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Like so slow it's non existent, M/M, MacGyver-ism, No really they don't get together in this so don't get your hopes up, Pre-Slash, References to Cairo (MacGyver TV 2016), Slow Burn, This fic is literally just an excuse to write hurt comfort MacDalton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 11:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_lovebird/pseuds/lavendersblues
Summary: You didn't really think nitrogen suffocation was that easy to get over, did you?





	Oxygen Enough for Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I did a hell of a lot of research about nitrogen for this, but mainly it was inspired by all the times I've had asthma attacks. Unfortunately all my research was very wrong. @macgyvermedical on tumblr gave me some helpful information regarding nitrogen inhalation, which you can find at the end of the fic for scientific clarification, but for the duration of this fic please suspend reality as best you can.
> 
> As I told my wonderfully lovely beta [KatieComma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma) (check out her body of works!), things really would have been better if they'd just kissed at the end of the fic, but alas, it was not to be so.

Mac felt the burning rush of not-air in his lungs and felt his vision swim. El Noche’s voice was muffled as if Mac was actually underwater, not strapped to a chair in the middle of El Noche’s living room with a mask over his face.

The concept of suffocating a prisoner to gain information had a long and illustrious history, and included the most popular form of information extraction - waterboarding.Unlike waterboarding, where the victim’s lungs tried to exhale water, Nitrogen inhalation caused the feeling of suffocation because the lungs could not exhale the carbon dioxide from the gas exchange.

_ The funny thing about the human body is that it can’t “feel” a lack of oxygen, _ Mac mused deliriously.  _ The desperation for air that you feel when you hold your breath under water isn’t caused by the need for more oxygen but from your body begging for the release of the trapped carbon dioxide. High altitude pilots experienced something called hypoxic hypoxia when the air around them was more nitrogen than oxygen, but the small bursts of nitrogen he inhaled each time they pressed the mask into his face wouldn’t cause hypoxic hypoxia to set in at sea level somewhere in Mexico.  _

Mac could feel minor hypoxia setting in between the bursts of nitrogen. His body was sucking in oxygen but not enough to elevate the depletion in his bloodstream already caused by the pure nitrogen, and with each new forced breath of the pnictogen gas his ability to focus on finding an escape slipped further and further from his grasp.

The sounds of fighting finally registered in his brain when the Lieutenants all turned towards the sound of gunfire. Mac’s survival instincts had been honed in basic training, one thing the Army had done for him he never would have done for himself. With decent reflexes for someone suffering severe oxygen deprivation, he reached out with his leg and  _ kicked _ .

The spin of the tank made his eyes dizzy but he managed to avoid getting clocked in the head as it spun past his chair, knocking out the last of the men. Mac wheezed a sigh of relief, taking a slow drag of air to try and clear his head. His ears were buzzing and his blood was roaring, creating a pounding behind his eyes.

He just needed to get out of the chair, he told himself. Find an escape.

But, of course his luck must have run out because the advancing gun told him death was imminent. Mac’s brain struggled to puzzle out the fact that he was going to die without being able to apologize to Jack for letting the op go south, or telling Bozer that he was actually a secret agent.

_ Oh Bozer, _ he thought squeezing his eyes shut.  _ This is going to destroy him. _

But then there was a heavy thud, and the sound of a body hitting the floor that wasn’t  _ Mac’s body _ with a bullet hole in it, and he startled, staring wide-eyed at the image of Jack - in full tac gear - smiling and talking. Jack’s voice sounded funny in his ears but it was such a comforting sound that Mac could feel the tension unwind in his chest like a loosening spring.

“Hey man, got your message,” Jack turned his rifle on the moaning cartel members on the floor. Mac was still staring, his body refusing to come down from flight mode and his blood still screaming for oxygen. But the sight of Jack shot warmth through his suffocating veins in ways that not even hypoxia could muffle. 

“Might wanna brush,” the next words were incomprehensible to his brain, “morse code though,” Jack was still talking and Mac knew it was his way of making sure Mac was still with him. Jack’s smile seemed tense. “Misspelled my name.”

Jack turned away from Mac, calling something Mac couldn’t quite make out in the fuzzy haze of his brain. Despite sucking in oxygen with every breath, he knew he wasn’t going to recover fast and it was frustrating. Jack turned back to him and leaned forward to cut the duct tape from his wrists.

“Geeze,” Jack was mumbling, “what they been giving you?” 

Mac registered the duct tape loosening but he couldn’t control his arms. They flailed awkwardly as he yanked them off the arms of the chair.

“Looks like you could use a nap.”

Mac didn’t know what his face was doing but he assumed it was doing it’s best impression of a deer in the headlights. His body wasn’t responding the way it was supposed to, and he still couldn’t breathe. There was a buzzing in his limbs, and a nap sounded great, even though the rational part of his brain screamed at him to stay awake.

He finally managed a smile. Jack was here, things were going to be okay...mostly. Wow, Jack was actually here, in the middle of nowhere Mexico, and he was cracking jokes with the other members of the assault team. Mac was just...really happy to see Jack.

He let the dopey smile stay on his face as Jack looked at him, concerned. Mac saw the moment Jack’s eyes caught the label on the empty canister behind the chair. His expression grew dark and he crouched in front of Mac who slumped towards the floor. Mac was certain if no one caught him soon he was going to slide out of the uncomfortable piece of furniture until he was flat on his back.

The Federales were rounding up El Noche and his men, herding them zip tied past Mac. Mac kept his eyes on Jack, hoping he wouldn’t catch the eye of the leader of the cartel. 

“Mac, talk to me,” Jack said urgently, grabbing Mac’s wandering attention. Had Jack always had a beard? Mac tried to reach out and examine the stubble lining Jack’s face but his hand refused to cooperate. He was fairly certain the stubble was new. Or maybe it was old. He giggled. Jack’s brow furrowed. “Mac?”

“Uh?” Mac managed awkwardly. “Nitrogen. Bad. Um.” He tried to take a deep breath, feeling the dizziness permeating his bloodstream making his limbs feel disconnected and disjointed, his equilibrium was shot. “Can’t breathe, Jack,” he mumbled, one hand tugging at the shirt over his chest.

“Damn, they did a number on you man,” Jack said softly, reaching up to push Mac’s hair from his face. “Come on, let’s get you sitting up straight, that should help you breathe for now.” With both arms braced under Mac’s shoulders, Jack lifted and slid Mac back into the chair where his head lolled back and he looked up at Jack with a grin.

Jack pulled back and snorted at the adorably blissed expression on Mac’s face. “Better?” Mac looked at him confused and Jack gestured to the general vicinity of lungs. Mac raised his eyes comically in understanding.

“Breathing, yeah,” Mac’s voice rasped out. “Still feel funny. Hypoxia probably?” He scrunched his nose and then looked at Jack with a morose expression. “Yeah, hypoxia, definitely. Dizzy.” He moved to stand and wobbled dangerously. Recognizing disaster about to strike, Jack moved in swiftly, wrapping his arm around the skinnier agent and tugging him into Jack’s side.

“Alright, buddy, let’s not have any concussions on top of hypox...whatever,” Jack joked. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Just stay awake. If it’s that bad we need to get you checked out before you can nap.” When Mac didn’t respond he gave Mac a little squeeze with the arm around his torso. “Okay Mac?”

Mac hummed, his head lolling to the side to rest comfortably on Jack’s shoulder. “...’kay. Not gonna sleep, Jack. Just….talk.”

Jack hauled Mac through the house, now empty of hostiles, to the truck he’d left idling in the driveway. Mac’s feet dragged awkwardly as he tried to take steps in time with Jack but he failed. Jack ended up carrying most of Mac’s weight until they reached the truck.

“Phoenix has a helicopter with your name on it, buddy,” Jack said as they shuffle-walked. He reached his free hand up to his radio, pressing the call button and turning away from Mac. “Can I get a medic on sight? Mac’s in rough shape.”

Riley’s voice buzzed through his ear, “Already called one as soon as you reached the house. I figured El Noche wasn’t going to let Mac off easy.”

Jack grinned. “Atta girl, Riles, I’ll update you when we reach the airstrip.” He loaded Mac into the passenger seat, and buckled him in. The part of his brain that was worried for Mac was running a mile a minute, but the small part of his brain that examined everything from a distance was laughing at the hilarity of the doped up brainiac, awkward limbs and all.

He briefly wondered what the Jack from the Sandbox would have thought if he’d known he’d be manhandling his nerdy little EOD tech into the passenger seat of a truck in Mexico after an undercover op gone bad. It was definitely good for a laugh.

Climbing in the drivers side, Jack glanced at Mac who had taken the liberty of sprawling himself out on the center console, head cushioned on his haphazard arms. “Jack,” he groaned. “Don’t feel so good.”

“I know buddy,” Jack tried his best to be comforting, setting his hand against Mac’s hair for a brief moment. “We’ll get you through this, but I’m gonna need you to stay focused. What’s the atomic number of aluminum?”

In the Sandbox, back when Jack hadn’t the foggiest idea of just how important the kid next to him would become, they’d had an impersonal game they could use to pass the time in the hummer when both of them weren’t sure they could carry a conversation. It had morphed over time to a form of concentration game Jack used when Mac was spiralling into panic.

“Alum...inum. Aluminum,” Mac shifted on his arms, watching the crowded streets of Mexico pass through the windshield. “Um,” he lifted his head to squint at Jack. “Thirteen?” He intoned, as if Jack would know the answer. Jack assumed it was right and grinned.

“Yeah, buddy, good job. What about….” he mentally grasped at straws for any of the  elements. “Cobalt?”

“Tw-twenty seven,” Mac replied, less uncertain.

Jack had started the game as a sarcastic attempt to make fun of the kid, but after the initial sneer -  _ “Oh yeah? So what’s the atomic number of uranium, genius?” _ \- Mac had answered fast and calm, clearly used to being bated with his own intelligence. And then it was a challenge.  _ “What’s the atomic number of...nitrogen?” “Seven.”  _ And the kid never failed the challenge. Jack had started looking over a tiny laminated copy of the periodic table he found in Mac’s gear just to try and see how good Mac really was.

“I know what you’re doing,” Mac slurred, still staring at Jack awkwardly over the twisted arm on the console. “You’re...testing my…” Mac sighed as if he’d finished his sentence, and Jack grew more worried.

With the way Jack was laying on the gas, they were only three minutes from the airfield.

“What’s the atomic number of rhenium?”

Mac mumbled a quick, “Seventy-five,” before leaning back as if surprised. “Rhenium?” he questioned, the statement unsaid but Jack could read through the delerium.  _ How do you know the name of an element I doubt you even know the use of? _

“Hey,” Jack chided, aiming for teasing. “You’re not the only one allowed to know things,  _ Wunderkind _ .”

They pulled into the airfield like a bat out of hell, and Jack had no qualms with leaving the truck running and the keys in the ignition to tear out of the cab and meet the medics on the passenger side as they gently pulled Mac from the seat.

“MacGyver?” a medic asked, waving a flashlight in front of Mac’s eyes quickly and attaching a small device to one of his fingers with an LED screen that pulsed before bringing up numbers that Jack didn’t understand. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah,” Mac rasped. “Mexico.”

“That’s good,” the medic replied, pulling the tiny device off of Mac’s finger. “You don’t have any cognitive delay and your vision seems to be responding just fine. It looks like a simple case of low blood oxygen levels, so I’m going to hook you up to this oxygen tank for your flight, okay?”

He gestured to a small transportable oxygen tank and Mac balked. Jack jumped in quickly, hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay buddy, it’s just oxygen. Ain’t gonna do much except clear up the fuzzy feelings.” Mac looked at him, eyes wide and  _ so damn trusting _ , and Jack wanted to shoot himself in the foot for letting the kid get taken in the first place. It was his job to watch Mac’s back and he’d failed.

Jack was just singing praises to whatever God was listening that it hadn’t been anything worse than a few bruises and apparently minor hypoxia. Jack had a plan for the rest of his life, and that was to either die saving the kid, or following not soon after if he ever failed. His non-existent therapist would probably tell him that wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism for his own personal feelings, but Jack didn’t care.

Jack Dalton would follow Angus MacGyver to the ends of the earth.

“It’s okay, Mac,” Jack said softly. “I got you.”

Mac took one look at Jack’s face and nodded solemnly. He let the medics loop an oxygen cannula over his ears and set it under his nose, barely touching his nostrils. Mac scrunched his nose like it itched.

“This will last him until you land in California,” the medic said turning to Jack. “When you land there will be a full Phoenix medical team waiting for you to give him a full once over, but if I had to make an assessment, I’d say with the oxygen on he’s out of the danger zone for any kind of brain damage.”

Jack nodded, his lips pressed together tightly to avoid bursting into tears or doing something equally as ridiculous. He let the medic push Mac up the loading ramp in a wheelchair onto the plane, a borrowed transporter the Phoenix Foundation was temporarily using to get Mac and Jack back as quickly as possible. It was like stepping back into the military, the fuselage clearly designed for cargo, but with fold down seats and cross-shoulder safety belts.

The medic had just finished buckling Mac into a seat and was retreating with the wheelchair as Jack rolled up and parked himself right next to Mac, strapping himself down with distaste at the tight and thick straps that stretched awkwardly over his tac vest. Mac was watching him carefully. As soon as he finished, Mac’s head suddenly flopped onto Jack’s shoulder without preamble.

Jack chuckled nervously. “Mac? You okay there?”

Mac only groaned in response, turning Jack’s chuckle into a laugh. “Head,” Mac grumbled, but refusing to move. “Hurts, heavy, hate it.” The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched up. If Mac was lucid enough to attempt a joke, he was already doing better. “Also,” Mac’s voice broke through his observations, “this tube is annoying.” 

“Yeah, I can’t imagine that’s really comfortable,” Jack replied. The engines on the plane started with a loud whirring noise, drowning out any other conversations they could have had, the noise pollution in the bare fuselage almost as loud as if they had been outside the plane.

As the plane began take-off, the g-force pressed Mac further into Jack’s side and he felt his shoulder twinge in protest. With as much care as he could muster while fighting gravity, he extricated his arm from between them allowing Mac to thump into his chest and settle his head on Jack’s shoulder in a more comfortable position.

Jack wrapped his free arm around Mac’s shoulders for lack of a better option and relaxed, letting the familiar hum of the flight lull him into a light doze.

———

Jack woke when the plane went wheels down, the jolt of impact with the tarmac enough to bring him to awareness. Mac was still pressed against his side in an almost uncomfortable position, his face tilted down and away from Jack’s face. Jack almost thought he was asleep but it was clear he was awake from the way his long fingers were twiddling with the cannula tubing in front of his chest.

“Feelin’ okay down there?” Jack teased, adjusting his hold on Mac’s shoulders but not letting go. Mac glanced up and his eyes were clear for the first time since Jack had seen him in Texas. Mac only sighed before turning back to the tubing.

“My head still hurts but I think I’m past the worst of it. Hypoxia symptoms usually progress in the order of the severity of the oxygen loss and I hit...most of them,” he grumbled and then began to tick the list off on his fingers. “Numb limbs, weakness in the limbs, impaired vision, fatigue, dizziness, impaired judgement…”

Jack laughed. “When did I miss the impaired judgement? You seemed perfectly rational, there were no table dances. I feel cheated,” he joked trying to lighten Mac’s mood. Mac didn’t dignify the joke with a response, instead he just twisted the tubing between his fingers nervously.

“Got any symptoms left, outside of the headache?” Jack tried instead, wondering if he was taking advantage with Mac pressed against him. He debated trying to casually take his arm away but froze in his train of thought as Mac simply leaned harder into his side.

“No, I just...feel awful,” he said simply. Jack could relate.

The plane had come to a halt and the engines powered down.Jack felt like his ears were ringing. It wasn’t long before the ramp opened up and a medical team came tromping into the hold to give Mac the all clear. Mac sat up reluctantly and waited as one medic applied a blood pressure cuff, and another attached one of the same devices used to check Mac’s oxygen levels in Mexico.

As soon as they had checked all of his vitals, the last medic started spouting off medical speak to Mac who nodded in actual understanding, unlike Jack who always nodded just to get the medics to stop speaking to him.

“And that means I can take this,” she said with a smile, gesturing to the tank. Mac breathed a sigh of relief as the medic turned off the oxygen flow and packed up the cannula, shoving it into her pocket and hefting the tank under her arm.

She smiled warmly at Jack, and Jack knew it was probably time for the “Keep an eye on him,” instructions.

“He should be fine, but I wouldn’t let him drive for another six hours, and make sure he doesn’t have any balance issues between now and tomorrow. And if someone could stay with him in case of any head related trauma that could have been exacerbated by the loss of oxygen, it would be a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Jack said weakly. “Yeah I can do that, or Bozer can, but we’ll watch out for him.” 

“Thanks, Dr. Shin,” Mac said - and  _ of course _ Mac would know the name of the medics, he probably got more of the ‘Just in case’ instructions than Jack given how many times their positions were reversed.

As the medics filed from the plane, Jack stood and stretched. His back popped in a few joints and he sighed as his spine settled back into a comfortable position. He looked down at Mac who was glowering at the floor like it had personally offended him.

“Come on, Mac,” Jack cajoled, extending a hand to his partner. “Up you get, it’s time to get you cleaned up back at Phoenix before we pack you back to Bozer.”

Mac looked at the hand Jack had extended and took it, accepting the help to his feet. He wobbled slightly, grabbing hold of Jack’s shoulder again and Jack slipped his arm around Mac’s back to keep him steady. Neither of them said anything about how easy it was to lean against each other.

Jack’s car was waiting at the airfield, and he held the door as Mac climbed into the passenger seat before closing it gently behind him.

Jack climbed in and Mac started leaning dangerously to one side. Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Head feeling heavy?” 

Mac flushed and half shrugged. “Yeah, it’s…. better when I’m not sitting upright.” 

Jack might have been a selfish person to think about finding ways to get Mac next to him but he didn’t care. It was nice that the GTO had a bench seat because it meant that the next words that came out of his mouth wouldn’t sound quite as awkward.

“Well, come on then, slide on over. My shoulders can handle the weight of that big brain of yours just fine,” Jack lifted his arm, opening the space that Mac immediately slid into, as if he’d just been waiting for the offer. Mac settled his head on Jack’s shoulder as if he belonged there, and Jack’s heart clenched at the thought.

“Thanks Jack,” Mac mumbled into the side of Jack’s tac vest before his breathing evened out and Jack knew he’d fallen asleep.

The drive to the Phoenix building wasn’t far from the airfield, but Jack decided to take the long way. He wanted to let Mac snooze on his shoulder for as long as possible before he had to get Mac cleaned up and back home. It was going to be hard explaining the ‘Safety Watch’ to Bozer without being able to give too many details as to  _ why _ Jack needed Bozer to watch Mac for him.

Mac never looked forward to explaining his injuries to Bozer, always said it was the worst part of the job for him. Jack could understand. He’d never bunked with a civilian but he’d dated them and the principle was the same - keeping part of yourself from someone close to you always hurt.

Pulling into his usual parking space, Jack killed the motor and exhaled. Mac was still fast asleep tucked against Jack’s side and it was the first truly relaxed expression Jack had seen on Mac since he’d found him tied up in El Noche’s mansion of horrors.

It seemed that the silence and the lack of the vibration from the engine was enough to slowly bring Mac to awareness. He stirred, shifting, burying his nose into the sleeve of Jack’s shirt before taking a deep breath. Mac groaned, blinking and sitting up slowly.

“Hey there Rip Van Winkle, you feel up to a shower and a change of clothes?” Jack teased, looking down at the prison gear Mac was still sporting. Mac blinked before looking down at the dirty and bloodied orange top.

Mac wearily sighed, “Bozer. Of course.”

They climbed from the car, Jack feeling the ache setting into his bones. It had been one hell of a long day, and he still had to get Mac clean, dressed, and packed off back to his own house. Mac already seemed more stable on his feet as they quickly stripped in the Phoenix’s locker room and hopped into the showers.

It almost felt like being in the Army all over again, washing fast and furious before finding the spare clothes they both kept in the office for emergencies like this. Mac had to sit on a bench to get dressed but he eventually pulled it off. Jeans, belt, boots, and a deep green button down with rolled sleeves up to his elbows.

Jack just hopped into a pair of jeans and another of his clean black t-shirts before pulling his boots back on and stowing his tac gear for a thorough cleaning as soon as he was back on the clock. But at that moment, Mac needed him more. Then he turned to Mac who was panting softly, hunched over on the bench. The effort of getting dressed had wiped the energy Mac had regained right out of him.

Jack held out his hand silently, more afraid of being refused than anything. But Mac took the offered hand and Jack hauled the skinny genius to his feet. There was a long moment where their hands remained joined and Jack felt a thrill run up his spine as he looked into Mac’s wide blue eyes.

The moment ended when Mac closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the muscle between Jack’s neck and his shoulder, his nose brushing Jack’s collarbone softly. Jack froze, unsure. Mac’s hand was still in his, and his breathing was even - the puffs of air warming the black material and Jack’s skin underneath.

“You okay there, Mac?” he asked softly, his free hand tentatively cupping the back of Mac’s head. Mac nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just...it’s been a long day,” Mac mumbled, the puffs of air from his mouth warm and damp. “I just…” Mac trailed off before leaning back, and letting go of Jack’s hand. Jack slid his other hand down the back of Mac’s head, holding his neck gently.

“Hey,” he said softly, “ _ hey _ \- it’s okay. You don’t have to go over it with me right now. Why don’t we get you home and in your own bed and we’ll deal with this tomorrow?” It was a familiar offer, one that Jack hadn’t used in a long time. 

It had started at the very beginning of their relationship and soon grew into a pattern. Nights in Afghanistan after missions gone wrong, or missions away from home with little hope of success, Jack and Mac invariably found their way to each other. 

Mac had started the phrase in the Sandbox - “You don’t have to go over it with me right now,” he’d said as he’d tried vainly to comfort Jack after the loss of a road vehicle in their convoy to a rocket launcher he’d tried to stop but had missed the shot. Jack couldn’t talk about it, but he knew that he should, and Mac had given him the ultimate out in the end, proving once again that Mac knew Jack better than Jack knew himself.

Jack had finished the phrase after Cairo. Nikki was in the hospital, in a medically induced coma, and Mac was holding tight to the lapels of Jack’s tac vest as Jack tried to pry him from the waiting room. They hadn’t seen home in over two months and Jack knew that what Mac needed most in that moment was something familiar, routine, and mundane. The doctors had informed them Nikki would be alright, so Jack hauled Mac to his feet, the other agent grabbing onto him to support himself. “Let’s get you home and into your own bed, and we’ll deal with this tomorrow,” he had told Mac. And Mac had followed him silently, too exhausted to even nod in agreement.

And after every mission that ended hard, or messy, Jack or Mac would turn to the other, holding them up by their bootstraps, in essense, and give them the strength to make it one more day.

“We don’t have to go over it right now,” Jack repeated, tugging gently at the back of Mac’s neck. “Let’s just get you home - and in your own bed, and we’ll deal with this tomorrow.” It was a promise that Jack and Mac had kept between them for years - that tomorrow things would get better.

That promise still held the same meaning even standing in the locker room of the Phoenix Foundation, Jack holding Mac close to his chest. Jack watched the resolve harden in Mac’s features, his determination to make it past every bad day he’d experienced in that hellhole in Texas written across his features. Mac took a deep breath and pushed himself back, turning to make his way to the GTO. He walked as if he hadn’t just endured prison, a kidnapping, a drive to Mexico in the trunk of a car, and then forced nitrogen inhalation.

Jack just sighed, following behind.

The drive to Mac’s was silent, Jack at the wheel. Mac had wasted no time tucking himself back into Jack’s side as soon as Jack had buckled his seatbelt, and Jack hadn’t even tried to refuse, simply gathering Mac firmly into his side. Prison was hell, Jack was well aware, but the way that Mac continued to cling to him proved how much it had gotten to his boy.

Warmth and affection didn’t exist in the cement walls of a jail cell. Mac was too  _ good _ at his very core to handle extended periods of isolation, ostracism, and cold shoulders the way he’d done for the two hundred and seventy hours and forty-six minutes he’d been in that Texas jail cell. Mac was too  _ bright. _ Too clean. Too wholesome. He stood out in every crowd as someone that others would notice. Mac’s soul shone through his eyes, bright as a lighthouse beacon, and like everyone else around him Jack had been drawn  into that sphere of influence and kept there by gravity alone.

Mac had sent Jack articles over the years to read, interesting scientific studies that Jack was interested in, and one that had always stood out to him was something about Touch Starvation. He’d never had the chance to examine the idea much beyond the article itself, but as he glanced down at Mac leaning as close to Jack as he could and seeing the tension in the way he was still holding back told him more about the phenomena than any article ever could.

Deciding the risk was worth the possible repercussions, Jack finally let his arm shift from the back of the bench seat to slide around Mac’s back until his hand was at Mac’s hip. Mac made no move or indication that Jack had crossed a line and Jack said a quick prayer that his next move wouldn’t get him punched square across the jaw as he he tugged Mac even closer.

Side by side they were as close as they could be, but Mac seemed to want to be closer, sliding one arm across the back of the seat, the other around Jack's middle and hugging him tight.

They drove like that in silence until they reached Mac and Bozer’s house in the hills.

The lights in the house were off, and the yard was dark. Mac was already half asleep against Jack’s side. Jack tugged the sleepy genius out of the driver’s side and walked him to the door before grabbing for Mac’s keys which Mac handed over with zero protest. Jack unlocked the door, shuffled Mac inside, and shut the door behind him, locking it with a click.

Even in the dark Jack and Mac knew the house like the back of their hands. They quietly walked past Bozer’s closed door towards Mac’s room - it had been his grandfather’s when his grandfather had still been alive. Only after closing the door behind them did Mac flip on the light switch. The room was illuminated in bright white and Jack winced.

“Ah,” Mac hissed, “sorry Jack. I forgot I installed daylights for better visibility in here.”

“No worries,” Jack whispered back. “I’ll go ahead and let myself out and lock the door with the spare, does that sound okay?” He turned to leave.

He was almost to the door handle when Mac’s hand landed on his shoulder. Jack turned back, feeling a lump rise in his throat as he looked at the open and bare expression on Mac’s face. 

“Stay?” Mac’s voice was small, unsure. He knew that this was prison talking, not Mac, but Jack couldn’t help but fall into Mac’s baby-blues and feel himself drown knowing he would do anything Mac asked of him in that very moment. “Just for tonight,” Mac added, a little more firm - a little more sure. “Please.”

Jack knew that tomorrow they would go back to the way they had always been, Jack and Mac, Mac and Jack - the dynamic duo who bickered for fun and saved the world because they could. There were people to see and places to save, and feelings to deny until their dying breaths. But for now, in the cooling light of the bedroom, a pocket universe unto itself, they were just Angus MacGyver and Jack Dalton.

Mac hit the lights and Jack thought of something his mother used to say when he would worry about the future. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, Jack,” she said to him as he watched her mixing biscuits on Sunday mornings. “Because tomorrow can worry about itself. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

As Jack slid into the sheets next to Mac in the cool dark of the bedroom, he felt Mac curl up next to him, Mac’s face buried against Jack’s chest as close as he could, arms tucked up underneath Jack’s and his knee’s towards his chest. Jack would worry about tomorrow when they were pretending tonight never happened, he agreed silently to the ghost of his mother as he gently tugged Mac just a little bit closer.

**Author's Note:**

> [@macgyvermedical](https://macgyvermedical.tumblr.com/) on tumblr with regards to nitrogen inhalation: 
> 
> "I think nitrogen was a fairly ineffective choice for torture. For one thing, it would have no effect on the carbon dioxide exchange (there just has to be less CO2 in the air than there is in the blood in order for CO2 to leave the body, and if the breathed gas is 100% nitrogen with no CO2, it would be really easy for CO2 to leave the blood), so Mac would totally be able to blow off a normal amount of CO2. 
> 
> This would mean, at least initially, he wouldn't feel like he was suffocating. He'd have a few minutes before the hypoxic drive would kick in and he'd start breathing more deeply, but likely at the same rate, and a minute or so after this, start to feel kind of confused or euphoric, and a couple of minutes later falling into unconsciousness.
> 
> It would be more than 2 or 3 minutes before his o2 sats dropped significantly. The hypoxic drive doesn't kick in until your sat is in the high 80s, and you don't typically pass out until you've had some time a lot lower (you can be conscious in the 50s or 60s, just usually not for very long). He's otherwise pretty fit, so I'd say it would probably take a good 6-8 minutes straight of breathing pure nitrogen to cause unconsciousness, and if he was able to get a few breaths in every minute or so, he'd be good for a while."


End file.
